While daily sinking on a cold damp bed;
If they don’t move me in a little while
I certainly shall tumble down instead.
My wretched lot your interference claims,
Much longer I cannot together hold;
Some morning I shall drop into the Thames,
For I am weak and miserably old.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old bridge,
Whose tottering state has made him quite a bore,
His piers have sunk down to the river’s ridge,